I smell the dust of the ranch

and the smoke of the hill

still as I sit here

and listen to congressmen.


I feel the bruise of the bullet,

the slam of it,

into the folded speech.


I see her sometimes

in the corners of mirrors.

I see her dead

and smell the room.


Part of me

is watery and dark

and filled with tinny echoes.



Patrick T. Reardon



Written @ 1980.

Written by : Patrick T. Reardon

For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.

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